


Darkest Dungeon: A Moment of Enlightenment

by SwallowDen



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-02-01 01:24:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12694146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwallowDen/pseuds/SwallowDen
Summary: In the depths of a ruined mansion, three explorers fight for their lives.





	1. Got to Keep Going

 

The titanic mace struck the robed man in the ribs, sending him flying backwards with a sickening crack. The merchant ran to his side, trying to help him up: his usual constant stream of harsh laughter and muttered prayers stifled and replaced with a pained wheeze. She desperately pulled at his robes, and looked up to see the monster that had struck him slowly stomp forward. Covered from head to toe in armour, the only hint to its identity was the raised visor in its helmet; revealing the dark, hollow eye sockets of a bleached skull. The animated skeleton marched forward, eyes fixed on the antiquarian, mace raised.

Just as she winced and prepared herself to duck, a tall figure strode forward to meet the oncoming brute. Spitting words in a long-dead language, the knight’s battered armour seemed to glow, a light with no source glinting off chainmail and dented plate. The skeletal giant slowly turned to glare at the crusader and, seemingly changing its mind, took its mace in both hands and swung at him. The knight held up his sword and braced himself: taking the blow in his chest, he slid backwards but stayed on his feet, iron boots screeching against the floor.

The antiquarian turned back to the wounded man lying on the floor. She had seen him take far worse blows than this, but now it seemed his legendary constitution was finally beginning to fail him. She fumbled for the censer hanging from her chains and found the familiar surface of the skull forming the top. She held it to her face, and started whispering a furious prayer. Fumes began to drift free of the skull’s eyes and nose and moved with purpose down to the fallen warrior. As the smoke reached his face, he took in a deep breath and began to cough. The woman sagged in relief, as the holy man slowly staggered to his feet and took up his barbed flail.

The flagellant turned his attention to the monster that continued to attempt to murder the crusader. He took his flail, wrapping the bladed chains around his scarred hand. Glaring at the skeletal brute, he snarled and crushed the thorn-like cords. The blood pouring from his mangled fist shone with light, and the giant stumbled as if it had been struck by a mighty hand. Before the antiquarian’s horrified eyes, the wounds and cuts covering the man began to stitch themselves back together: flesh joining flesh and knitting into thick scars. Most wonderous of all, the flagellant’s cracked and broken ribs began to adjust themselves and pop back into shape, pushing against the sides of his chest and propping them up. If it hurt as much as it seemed, the flagellant cared not: spitting a gob of blood to one side, he swung the flail from side to side and marched forward to meet the wounded.

Underneath the shared attention of both the flagellant and the crusader, the skeleton’s monstrous size proved to be of no intrinsic merit. As the monster finally hit the ground with a thunderous clash of bone and steel, it began to rapidly dissipate into a fine dust. The dust swirled, and streamed down the halls, heading deeper into the estate. The antiquarian sighed. A villain, temporarily defeated, but soon to return to trouble a future expedition

At least they left bountiful gifts. The crusader stepped over to where the corpses of the giant and its two companions had faded away: leaning down, he picked up a strangely shaped statue and held it up for the antiquarian to inspect. She nodded, grinning. A rare antique indeed, one that would fetch a fair price in the estate. Her grin faded. If they would survive for that long.

Perhaps they would not have to complete their mission. Her companions were injured, and their cart was almost full of heirlooms and treasure. It would not be so bad to return now: they would fail to map out all the ruins, but they would live to fight another day and the treasure should be enough to-

_There is only one more room._

Paixdecour cursed, clutching her head. No matter how many weeks she would spend at the estate, she didn’t think she would ever become accustomed to foreign thoughts invading her head.

_One last room, and your work here is done. Turn back, and the ruins will shift and change again, hindering future expeditions. Stay, and our map will be complete, the ruins will remain still, and your quest will be complete._

The antiquarian shook her head sharply, as if she were a beast bothered by a loud and buzzing fly. “We are all wounded and exhausted. This map will mean nothing if we perish. You ask too much, Heir.”

The flagellant, Guernon, stepped forward and placed one gnarled hand on her shoulder. “Do not fear, sister. The Light shall guide us through these halls. Let the adversary try and stop us, for our quest is truly blessed.”

She glared back at him and tried to ignore his bloody hand dripping on to her robe. Before coming to the estate, she had had little patience for the holy men and their ceaseless prattling. After so many miracles witnessed, she had found some faith in their “Light”. Whether or not this Light was benevolent, was a debate for another time. She had seen too many return from the dungeons crippled, and far too many not return at all, to believe in an all-powerful force that only held the best interests of humanity at heart. She turned to the crusader, silently leaning on his sword.

“And what of you? Do you too wish to carry on?” Banquemare looked down, considering his words for a second, then spoke:

“The flagellant speaks the truth. We fight with the grace of the Light at our sides. And we have not come this far to turn back now.” Paixdecour sighed, then threw up her hands in defeat.

“Then let us press on.”


	2. Not this one, not today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment of valor shines brightest against a backdrop of despair

Guernon grinned and stepped forward, small drops of blood spattering the floor as he walked. The knight stretched, cracked his neck, and leaned his sword on his shoulder, joining his brother-in-arms.

The trio continued down the last corridor. Their boots left prints in the dust on the floor: looking down, Paix saw that there had once been a richly embroidered carpet covering the floor. Now it was torn and stained, marked by the unholy movements of the estate’s new occupants.  The entire estate followed the same fashion: once priceless paintings and artefacts torn and scratched beyond recognition, grand staircases layered in dust and decay, every room stinking of rot and corruption. Paix sniffed, turning up her nose in disgust. In her travels she had visited unpleasant places before, but never anywhere so blatantly malevolent as the mansion and its surrounding acres.

Banquemare froze, and turned back to the group. “Did you hear that?”

Paix frowned and began to reply, when a blue light began to fill the hall. From around the corner came an enormous silhouette: a  tall, fluttering pillar of yellow cloth, accompanied with a strained, wheezing moan. Upon sighting the adventurers, the bundles of fabrics seemed to ripple: at its crown, assorted clothes slid back to reveal a rusted cage. Within was a skull, twitching and staring at the three warriors facing it. Its jaw slowly slid open, and a thin, cracked growl echoed out.

The knight slowly stepped back, holding his sword at the ready. The flagellant smirked, stepping forward and unwinding the barbed tines of his flail. The antiquarian simply stood and held on to her censure, watching with horror as the spectre approached them.

The skull hissed again, and this time an accompanying chorus of moans, whispers and cries rose up to join it. The blue flames in the skull’s eye-sockets seemed to focus on the knight and, with a sudden moment, the robes split and stretched open like the wings of a great bat. Underneath the party was greeted with a horrific sight: scores of heads and skulls, lined in neat rows. Each head was in varying stages of decomposition. Some were practically fresh, others were just beginning to sag in decay. Others still were just skulls, with some strips of skin and flesh to show that it was once alive. And as the robes opened, every head began to call out. Screaming, moaning, whispering in monstrous harmony.  Paix could not tear her eyes away at the sight.

From somewhere within the collector’s cavernous folds, three heads exploded outwards. One was old and worn, but possessed the battered eyepatch commonly seen among the militia in the hamlet. Another was destroyed from the nose down, dangling tongue and spinal cord making a gruesome mockery of a highwayman’s skull.  The last was most terrible of all: a face that seemed almost untouched, with only pale features and the absence of a body to reveal its undead nature. It bore the hood and wraps of one of the sacred sisters of the church.

At this last sight, the knight faltered. His sword slowly drooped down, and he spoke in a stunned whisper.

“Sister Machault?”

The head said nothing. Its eyes glowed with the same cold, blue fire that lit the collector’s skull. It simply moved in turn with its fellows, floating by its master.  In the blue glimmer, an incorporeal body seemed to form underneath the head: possessing a crude resemblance to the vestal’s armour and robes.

“It is a lie, Banquemare.” Guernon snarled. The grim priest stepped up to the crusader’s side, swinging his flail from side to side. “Machault has long joined the Light. This beast has seized her form to mock us, to make us fear to strike. Let us destroy it, in her name.” The knight nodded, and stood straight once more. He raised his sword and growled.

“In her name.”

He had raised his guard just in time. The spectral highwayman’s eyes blazed, and he struck, a vicious blow aimed at the knight’s eyes. Banque managed to parry it in time, blocking the glowing knife with the flat of his blade.  Guernon seized the opportunity and swung his flail at the tall spectre: the spiked chains lashed at the screaming heads under the collector’s robes, drawing blood and causing the spectre to fall back, hissing in rage. The flagellant grinned in satisfaction, then spat an oath as the undead man-at-arms moved to protect the monster. The flickering form placed itself between Guernon and his intended target, raising its shield and staring at him in silent challenge.

Paix held up her censure and whispered to the skull set into its lid. She then smoothly swung back and forth: causing noxious green fumes to leak from the skull’s eyes. Animated by some unseen force, the poisonous cloud coursed towards the spectre. The man-at-arms moved to intercept it: the gas flowed against the disembodied head, causing its skin to blister and pop. If it burned, the creature gave no sign. It simply set itself back in front of the collector, intent on blocking any possible attack.

Paix scowled in frustration. “Banquemare! Deal with the militia man!” The crusader nodded, and charged.  He slammed the pommel of his sword into the man-at-arm’s head, causing the lights in its eyes to flicker and its spectral armour and shield to partially dissipate. His strike came at a cost: the highwayman, seeing him distracted, took the opportunity to strike again. His glowing blade bit deep into Banquemare’s side and the knight stumbled back, cursing. Paix began to speak the skull again, seeing to heal the injured knight, when the former vestal’s eyes flared and her spirit held up a ghostly mace. The mace blazed with light, and the antiquarian was blinded by the sudden flare. She cried out in shock and clawed at her eyes, trying to blink away ghostly blue aftereffects. She shook her head, clearing her vision, and looked up.

                The collector towered over Banquemare, whose shoulders slumped with exhaustion.  The spectre glared down at the crusader, blood dripping from its robes, and slowly lifted one hand. Paix tried to call out a warning, but before she could, a burning light shot from the collector’s eyes and seemed to spear through the knight. It coiled around his form and roughly yanked him forward. Even as the knight slid to his knees, the bleeding wounds on the myriad of screaming faces within the collector’s robes fused together, healing at an unnatural pace.  Paix simply stood there, mouth open in shock, as the knight lay slumped on the floor.

Then she heard it: a faint sobbing.

                Paix’s heart sank. She knew what she was going to see: she had seen it before. Brave men, proud men, ruined and reduced to shambling wrecks by the horrors of the estate. Banquemare was a stalwart and valiant knight, who had fought beside them and guarded them since they had first met. But even such a hero could not last forever. She sighed, and bowed her head. And from the corner of her eye, she saw the knight slowly stand up. And she heard the whimpering turn into a growl. The holy warrior picked up his sword, and stood up straight, staring the collector dead in the eyes.  The growl turned into a roar and, in a voice booming like a bell, Banquemare screamed in defiance:

“My every step sanctifies this unholy earth!”

                Light seemed to pour from him: his faith, made manifest, seeping from every joint and gap in his armour. With a wordless shout of rage, the knight charged, sword blazing like a torch. He pierced the spectre at the shoulder of its robes and with a snarl of satisfaction, cleaved one of its arms from its body.

                The collector screamed in pain and anger, and the assorted ghosts seemed to flicker in agony. The flagellant let out a burst of cackling laughter and charged forward, slamming the stunned highwayman with his flail.  The barbed wires tore skin from flesh and flesh from bone, ruining the head’s features. Whatever unholy force kept it afloat could not keep up, and the light finally faded from its eyes.  It fell to the ground, rapidly rotting and dissipating into a fine ash.

Meanwhile the knight continued to swing at the collector, accompanying each vicious strike with howled prayers and enraged oaths. The once fearsome monster seemed to shrink within itself, its shrieks of anger transforming into a whining mewl of pain and fear. With one steel boot, Banquemare pinned the writhing ghost underneath him, and raised his sword.

“You are an abomination, and not fit for this world. Return from whence you came.”

He stabbed the sword deep into the collector’s torso, and in a final scream, it exploded. The metal cage at its peak bent and shattered, the skull crumbling. The faded yellow cloth that constituted its robes rapidly rotted, leaving Banquemare standing surrounded by stinking rags and mouldy silk. He breathed heavily, leaning on his sword for support.

Paix turned to the other two ghosts, only to witness a familiar scene. The blue light glowing from their eyes flickered and winked out, causing each head to silently fall to the floor, where they also rapidly turned into ash and dust. She stared, and fell to her knees in relief. Banquemare had turned the tide and saved them. She silently swore to buy all the contents of the inn’s cellar to reward him. She felt a tap at her shoulder, and looked up to see a familiar grinning face. Guernon offered a hand and pulled her up.

“I believe what you have just witnessed was a moment of enlightenment, sister Paix”.

Paixdecour shook her head, smiling grimly. “Perhaps.”

The exhausted trio limped forward to the last room, where all they found was an abandoned sitting room, filled with worn chairs and dusty carpets. The heir declared their work done, their trails finished. They could return to the hamlet. Paix sighed, and stretched. After this, maybe she would join Banquemare at the inn.

Or, perhaps the church.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> And here's one more, probably my longest one yet. This is the first time I've tried writing serious fight scenes, so as usual, I could always use constructive criticism and advice. 
> 
> Sorry it's been a while since the last one, I've only just come back from a long trip where I didn't often get the chance to write. But now I'm back, and I'm hoping to have more stuff coming online more often. For example, I've got a bounty hunter centered story which I should have up tomorrow. 
> 
> Thanks for all the support, always makes me smile. Hope you guys like this one.


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